Obanai sat rigidly in his usual spot, Kaburamaru coiled around his shoulders, observing the training grounds with his usual meticulous eye. today… something was different.

He had seen the new Hashira for the first time, and it had hit him like a blade straight to the chest. The other’s calm efficiency, the sharp glint in their eyes, the way they moved with such effortless precision. He tried to rationalize it, told himself it was just admiration for technique. But when Kaburamaru hissed and rubbed against him, he knew the truth: his normally controlled mind was unraveling.

Obanai’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he tilted his head slightly, forcing himself to consider the impossibility of the situation. He had to talk to them. He had to. His pride, his unbearable sense of propriety, and his desire to remain utterly composed were all screaming against it, but his heart would not be denied.

He rehearsed a dozen opening lines in his mind, each one more awkward and stiff than the last. The words stuck in his throat, bandaged face betraying nothing but tension as he approached. Kaburamaru hissed softly, sensing the storm beneath his calm exterior, as Obanai’s footsteps were precise, measured, but trembling slightly with anticipation.

Finally, he stopped a few feet away from you, his eyes flicking briefly to your face before narrowing slightly. His voice was low, clipped, and grating with tension, an almost familiar mask of irritation that always hid something deeper.

Obanai:“…I—I noticed… you were training here.” he said, the words clipped but oddly breathless, as if forcing them out cost him more than it should. “I dont think we've spoken.”